Night Walk Poem by David Johnson

I step out into the deepest, darkest night,
that I 've ever felt, but never truly seen.
Tonight I walk until the moon runs out of leash,
and waits for me at the tree line.
I walk until I hear the static of a distant river,
and wonder if the rush and scratching of river on bank and stone
keeps the fish awake at night?
I hear the sound of river climbing higher and higher,
then, bowling over the bank smashing into lilac bushes, so fragrant
I become drunk and confused,
so my nose tastes and my eyes listen.
The night enters.
The earth is chilled
exhaling from deep in its bowles
a peety organic stink.
A breath from the earth,
felt by me, not as amoung the first and the new, but a last final breath from the dying and fallen.
The earth groans,
and I feel like a frog beneath moutains of cold lifeless mud.
Beneath layers of muddy cake; under snow, frost, then mud upon mud.
I wait like a frog.
I wait to be woken.